Forever We Go
by The Banana Boat
Summary: Their eyes lock, only seeing the very souls of the other as they battle their inner most carnal urges. A tale of the King and his sage. Yaoi.


Their eyes lock, only seeing the very souls of the other as they battle their inner most carnal urges.

His black hair sways magnetically as he saunters forward with an air of feigned nonchalance, disregarding the fact that the blond man seems to be stripping him, piece by piece, with his sapphire eyes alone.

'You called, your majesty?" intones the Soukoku, politely, stabbing, stressing 'your majesty' because a friend does not, will not, think the things the blond man's eyes so casually convey.

The blond smirks, his drunkenness pityingly apparent by the sloppy curve of his sensuous lips.

"I have", the blond replies simply, a hand resting lazily on his hip and his hair intentionally tousled. His bare chest and towel covered hips do not escape the notice of the other male in the room, but he pointedly ignores his Kings audacity to appear near naked before another man. ' For he is drunk', the double black repeats to himself, 'He is drunk and stupid with an irrevocable tendency to do what is most inconvenient .-'

"Something on your mind, my sage?" questions the blond with all the innocence of a guilty man, his twinkling sapphires whispering that-

- 'yes, I know exactly what it is that is troubling you, the reason, the denials, I_ know'_-

Obsidian eyes grow imperceptibly wider, a momentary flicker of hesitation marring his face before reverting back to detached complacency, effectively concealing his inner turmoil.

To the untrained eye, the transition would have gone unnoticed, unquestioned, but to the blond man, so accustomed to the Sages lies and attempts of discretion, the signs of discomfort rang loud and clear.

"I had previously inquired if the busy man himself would have time to join me for another round', the blond continues, lifting his glass invitingly, 'but it seems that his ever churning mind lies elsewhere.'

It was not a question, but a statement, and the blue, blue taunting eyes continued to stare with shameless intensity, the playful smile not quite reaching his surprisingly sober eyes as they beseeched and tore and broke the sages iron walled defenses, devouring the very dirty secrets that lurked in the depths of those ever alluding ebony eyes.

With a thousand crack and gaping holes in the Sages armor, his intentions alarmingly palpable, the cornered man turns away with finality, refusing to humor his _friend_ any longer.

"If you will forgive me, your majesty", the double black replies with polite insolence, again grasping the slippery handles of control, "it has been a long night, and I wish to return to my chambers where I hope to rest in peace and savor my time away from a certain rebellious king"

The injection of a little humor reinforced the fact that, yes, they are, _were_, good friends and best friends and that, no, their relationship is not, _was_ not, strictly restricted to those of an advisor and a king.

It did little, however, to diffuse the tension that threatened to shatter their delicate conundrums of' I know that he knows but does he know that I know and that _this_, it's wrong, wrong, wrong, _wrong_-

Ignoring his body telling, screaming, to step away, to spiral forward, into it, out of it, he walks away, turning the door knob-

-only to be he is slammed against the door by a certain blond.

His mind, it does not want to feel the man flush against him, does not want to acknowledge how much he wants it, how much his body is responding in kind. How the throbbing bulge brushing against his own makes him want to _surrender_ and-

"What are you hiding from" whispers the honey laced voice of the man his body needs but his mind denies, "What do you want to accomplish by running away?"

Hands, they're everywhere, sliding, feeling, searching, caressing his sides and hips and-

"Shinou!" the soukoku gasps, for the hand that fingers his manhood does not belong there, sliding into his cloak and into his robe, downwards, trailing feather touches here and there where the heat still lingers.

"Yes?" murmurs Shinou against an exposed nipple, the Daikenja's long robe slipping off and pooling to the floor.

The Daikenja does not know when or where or how the blond managed to strip him of his robe, or when he felt his back hitting the mattress and his belt sliding off his hips, but he knew he had to, it was his duty to push him away, away from the dark abyss the double black knew they were now hopelessly falling into.

'_What am I doing?'_

The question registers faintly as the Soukouko's cognitive processes grind to a halt. He closes his eyes. Then, all hell breaks loose.


End file.
